


Finding Madison

by ficdirectory



Category: The Fosters (TV 2013)
Genre: Ableism, Disability, Gen, Parent-Child Relationship, Protective Siblings, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2020-01-01 02:56:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18327221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficdirectory/pseuds/ficdirectory
Summary: An alternate version of Moms’ ableism talk with the kids, where it is longer, more involved, and where Jesus participates.  Set 5x11 and 5x12.





	Finding Madison

When Moms head back into the support group because they wanna speak to some people, Jesus hangs out outside. Likes that they gave him time to get himself together. This day has been hell, and these past few months like a long nightmare he can’t wake up from. The being constantly monitored. Having Moms call him out on every single word he says. Not to mention just the general feeling that since his brain injury he’s become the biggest disappointment and failure to everyone in his life.

And these things? They’re small. Barely a drop in the bucket that’s overflowing with just how awful Moms’ words and actions have made him feel.

They definitely need to talk more. Jesus isn’t sure how that’s gonna go. He gets that they’re sorry. But the damage they’ve done runs deep. They don’t know how hard he’s always working now, to be sure he’s on his best behavior.

It reminds him of being four. Five years old. Just dropped off in a strange house where he didn’t know the rules or the people. The way he couldn’t focus on anything because there was _everything_ and now _everything_ was different. Their mom left them. Didn’t feed them. Forgot about them for a long time. So what would strangers do?

It’s the last time he really remembers having to try to control every single thing about himself. _Don’t run around_. (Even though he couldn’t calm down his heart if he wanted to.) _Don’t yell_. (Even though he didn’t even know he was yelling.) _Don’t act hyper._ (Even though Jesus thought he was just acting normal.)

But he’d had to learn quick that if he didn’t smash down his hyperness and loudness, he and Mariana would get sent away. It happened like four times before they got to Stef and Lena’s. And it happened usually because Jesus forgot a rule. Or forgot to smash down his hyperness and his loudness.

It’s been years, but Jesus knows it can happen.

It had taken about a year after their adoption was finalized in third grade to really trust it was for real. That they weren’t gonna move or be sent away no matter what Jesus did or forgot to do.

And then this.

And now, more stuff he can’t smash down no matter how hard he tries.

Even though it’s been a couple weeks, Jesus can’t forget Mama’s words about inpatient programs. After she left, he looked up what she meant. Someplace like a hospital, where he’d be watched 24/7 and controlled about how to act. It would be worse than home, because there would be more strangers. Worse than home, ‘cause he’d get sent there alone.

–

He can sorta tell that moms expect him to just shake it all off. They said sorry. So that should be good enough, right? But it’s not. He’s seen more, heard more, felt more, lost more than they even know.

The day of Ana and Mike’s engagement party, Jesus had seen the tiny note on Moms’ calendar in the kitchen for two weeks out. In Mama’s handwriting -

_Jesus - Dr. Rundle_

_LA - 2 PM_

He’d looked that doctor up, too. Plus TBI. Just to see what Google had to say about him.

Every time he thinks about the results he found, Jesus’s vision dims at the edges. He feels like puking. Like blacking out. Every time he thinks about it, Jesus can’t speak past the massive betrayal that blocks every word he wants to say.

How could they?

Did they think he was never gonna find out?

Were they just gonna bring him out there and let Dr. Shock Therapy do his thing?

(Does their “I’m sorry” cover this, too? Will Jesus still have to go? If he puts up a fight, will they send him away?)

Moms’ hating him makes Jesus sort of hate himself, and feel hopeless. ‘Cause even though Moms think they can change him, Jesus gets just how unchangeable this is. He is. And what are they gonna do after every damn thing they try fails? Will they accept the failure of having to accept _him_ as a failure? As this broken person they think he is?

They say he’s not. That they’ll change. But there’s still shock therapy on the calendar. Still the threat of getting sent away lingering in his head. Still David at school, not even telling Moms he kept Jesus hours after lunch to finish the damn math test that Jesus probably failed anyway. There’s still the fact that he’s pretty much on house arrest because of his seizures. Because the smashing down is stressing him out and–

“Hey.”

Jesus glances up sharply. “What? I mean, hey.”

(Shit. It’s the girl from inside. The one whose sharing made Jesus break down.)

“I’m Madison.”

“Jesus.”

“Saw your moms inside but not you. I asked them, and they said you were out here.”

“Yeah.”

“Um…I noticed your reaction when I talked in there.”

“Sorry,” Jesus ducks his head.

“It made me feel like maybe you know what it’s like…to deal with all that crap. Do you?”

“Yeah,” Jesus nods. Swallows. He might really lose it again.

“Well, if you ever need somebody to talk to, I’m here.”

“I…have a girlfriend…”

“So do I,” Madison maintains. “I don’t wanna date you. I wanna be here for you. It’s been a while since my injury and…I don’t know…maybe I could help…”

“Why?” Jesus asks. He feels so beyond hopeless right now. Madison’s offer of help seems ridiculous. How’s she gonna save him from this?

“Because when I was going through this? All I wanted was somebody who got it. Who was on my side. Who understood how it felt to be me. I never got that then. But maybe the next best thing is getting to be there for somebody else.”

“So, I’m…an ego…boost?” Jesus quips.

“You’re me. You’re my community. We gotta stick together,” Madison stands. “I’ll leave you alone. But come back. Maybe tell your parents to stay home?”

“Yeah right. They’re already…”

“Already what?” Madison’s squinting.

“Never mind.” Jesus insists, swallowing. But in his head, he’s thinking, _I have no idea if I’ll even be able to come back. Next support group’s in two weeks._

Madison sits back down next to him. Doesn’t talk. Just sits.

It’s because she does this that the words can finally make their way out. “My moms…heard you…they said sorry. Said I’m…not…broken. And they’re gonna stop….making me feel like it.”

“But?” Madison asks, concerned.

“But…there’s too much going on. I can’t.”

(If she was anybody else, Madison would assume he was being polite. That he just doesn’t wanna lay all his crap on her the first time they meet. And it is definitely that. But he can tell, Madison gets it’s more than that, too. Gets it’s stress. And that his crappy speech gets even crappier when he’s stressed.)

“One thing?” she asks, and her knowing he needs to narrow it down is like a gift.

He swallows. Shrugs. Takes out his phone and hands it to her. The pic he’d snapped of the appointment on Mama’s calendar visible.

Madison studies it carefully. “You don’t wanna go to this,” she says. “Right?”

He nods. Watches her do exactly what he’d done when he first noticed the appointment there - Googling the doctor plus TBI.

“Shit, no. You can’t go to this,” Madison says firmly. “I’ll stay with you…” she offers and she does. Eventually, asking, “So, what else is going on?”

“I have…the worst…paraprofessional. He’s controlling my life. Yelling…at me. Making me stay after….class for hours to finish…math.”

“Do your parents know?”

“Said I had to…be patient with him.”

“No,” she says flatly. “ _He_ has to be patient with _you_.”

“That’s what _I_ said.”

“Hey guys,” Mom greets, and all of Jesus’s feelings of being understood slowly start slipping away. His ability to even talk to them follows suit.

But Madison stays, like she promised. Seems to get he’s having a hard time.

“You wanna give them your phone? Show them what you showed me?” she asks, keeping her voice low.

He hands it to Mom, ‘cause she’s closer. Sees how she closes her eyes like she’s in pain. It jars a word lose.

“Why?” Jesus hates this. Tries to stop it, but that just makes it more intense. “Why? I mean, I don’t– Why?”

“They’re gonna answer you. Right?” Madison sends Moms the evil eye. It’s enough to stop the loop he’s stuck in.

Mom hands the phone to Mama.

“Honey. This was a mistake.” Mama says, choked up. “You’re not going to this. We’re canceling it.”

“He asked a question,” Madison reminds. She drops her voice. “Did you mean to ask why?”

Jesus shakes his head as Mama hands his phone back.

“Wanna text them?” Madison asks, hushed.

“They’re right here…” Jesus whispers back.

“I know…just…sometimes it works for me…”

Jesus sighs and opens up a group text. Types: _Do I have to go?_ Hits send.

Moms read it, and Mama speaks up:

“Jesus, honey, I just said I’m cancelling it. It was a mistake. Okay?”

He sends a frustrated look at Madison. Can tell by the way Mama’s talking right now that she assumes it’s a memory issue, but it’s a _your answer is too long_ issue. If she’s giving him the info he needs, Jesus can’t tell.

“Yes or no?” Madison asks Mama plainly. “He doesn’t need to hear about your emotions or your plans. He needs to know, yes or no, does he have to go?”

“No,” Mama says, looking him in the eye. He can tell she wants to say a ton more, but she’s holding back.

“No?” he checks.

“No,” she repeats, sure.

“Did you…hate me?” he asks. The words out of his mouth before he even knows it. “ _Do_ you?”

“No.” Mama says again, like his words are hurting her. “We love you. We thought we were helping.”

“That’s…like…torture. If somebody wanted to do that…to Jude…you’d stop them. But you were gonna…bring me…” It’s like everything inside Jesus is being sucked down a giant drain.

Madison’s arms are crossed. “You don’t do that to people you love. You don’t do that to your worst enemy.”

“You’re right.” Mom nods.

“If…you’re serious about it…” Jesus ventures. “Call him. Say no. Right now.” He swallows. It’s a big risk, telling them what to do. But he’s not gonna feel safe going home with them if that’s still written on the calendar.

Mama doesn’t hesitate. She dials, turns on speaker phone, so they can all hear Dr. Rundle’s voicemail answering. Instructing the caller to leave a message.

“Dr. Rundle. This is Lena Adams Foster. I’m cancelling the appointment I have set for my son, Jesus Adams Foster.” She says the time and date and hangs up.

Jesus is so glad she didn’t apologize to the doc, for no-showing. For inconveniencing. It makes him feel a little bit more worthy.

He sits. Breathes. Madison is somehow, still here at his side. It feels kinda like they’ve known each other forever, even though they just met. Like she’s family. Maybe an older sister.

“David sucks ass,” he shares. (Not what he meant to say, but it’s late, and it’s harder than usual to find the words that won’t get him sent away. He has to settle for ones that might, and that’s scary as hell.)

“You mentioned that,” Mama remembers. “You’re still having a hard time with him?”

“Your para?” Madison whispers when Mama’s done.

Jesus nods to both.

“What’s going on?” Mama asks.

“Couldn’t…um…” his ears burn. He can’t talk about how awful David is without admitting that Jesus himself had struggled hardcore on his math test.

“It’s not your fault,” Madison reassures. Then, to Moms. “Sometimes, it helps if people ask me specific questions. Short ones. And wait.”

Jesus is focused on the ground, but he hears Mama ask, “What class?”

“Math.”

“What happened in math?”

“Test,” he admits, his voice getting thick.

“What did David do in the math test?” Mama wonders.

This time the answer takes a long time coming. Finally, he manages, “Made me stay.”

“David made you stay…after class?”

Jesus nods.

“Why?”

He shrugs, hopeless. “Couldn’t finish. Craig said I could take it home, but…”

“But David made you stay?” Mama asks, incredulous.

Jesus nods again. “Waited. He waited…til everyone left. Even Craig…and then…made me sit. And finish. Took hours. I didn’t get to eat…”

“Honey, I am so sorry I didn’t listen,” Mama wraps her arms around him. But he reaches out for Madison’s hand.

She squeezes.

It feels a million times safer - this strange older girl with the same invisible disability as him - than his own mom’s hug.

Because he knows Madison would never hurt him. Would never send him away. Madison is like him - _is_ him - in so many ways.

“I’m really sorry, but I have to go,” Madison apologizes.

“I’ll walk with you,” Jesus offers, standing up.

–

They’re alone in the parking lot, just the two of them when Madison swears.

“What?” he asks.

“My car…again…I have no idea where I parked it,” she admits.

Jesus feels trusted. For Madison to admit this is major. She just said in group how she never tells anyone. But she told him.

“I can help. What’s it look like?” he asks, glad there are only a few cars left.

“Blue - I mean, black…” she says, shaking her head.

“Alright, that narrows it…” Jesus scans the lot. Spots Moms’ vehicle, and a red one close by. But across it and under a streetlight, there’s a black car. Jesus walks toward it. “This one?” he asks.

“Yes,” Madison sighs, relieved.

Before she gets in the car, they swap numbers. Madison gets in the car and tells him out the window. “Hey. Got another thing for you to Google.”

“What?” he asks, wary.

“Ableism,” she motions for his phone and types it into Google. Hits search. “Bring this to your moms. Show them. Have them read up on it.”

“Can you text me?” he asks. “Remind me?”

“Yeah, when I’m home. Bye, Jesus.”

“Bye.”

–

The car ride home is quiet. Moms don’t talk to each other or him, and he’s lowkey worried that shit’s gonna hit the fan when he’s home. That it’s gonna be like, nope, Mama didn’t actually cancel. This didn’t actually happen and he’s still trapped with people who treat him bad.

His phone dings with a text.

_Madison:_

_Ableism._

Without thinking about it, he forwards the text to Moms, holding his breath.

Later, when he’s ready for bed, he catches both Moms with their phones out. He hopes he’s doing what he thinks they’re doing.

–

Jesus hangs out on the stairs, just out of Moms’ view. He can’t go to bed before he knows what they’re reaction’s gonna be. So he waits. Stays. Even though he’s beyond tired. Even though Madison’s not texting back.

She’s probably asleep, like he should be.

He thinks about going out back. Destroying all the work he and Gabe did on the stupid treehouse. But that would take energy. And, more importantly, that would definitely get him sent away. If going to throw his phone on his bed made Mama threaten it, he’s pretty sure smashing stuff - even stuff he made - would do it for sure.

He thinks about the time he sat on the stairs before and heard Mama telling Mom how Jesus was unpredictable, dangerous and that he might not get any better. That she was afraid of him.

He hasn’t been able to say it…but actually… _he’s_ afraid of _them_.

“Jesus,” Mom asks, gasping. “I didn’t know you were there, love.” She holds her hand to her chest.

“Sorry,” he says.

But instead of getting mad and insisting he go to bed, she says, “Come sit with us.”

He stands. Goes. Picks a chair by itself. Not the empty space by Moms on the couch.

“What?” he asks.

“We looked up ableism,” Mama shares.

“Okay,” Jesus says.

“We have a lot to learn,” she says. “And we will. But first… We want to check in with you again. You were worried about the appointment on the calendar. And rightly so.”

Jesus puts up a hand, in a ‘stop’ motion. He needs them to slow down.

“Can you…like…pause…more?” he asks, swallowing.

Mama nods and doesn’t say anything for a bit. Jesus hopes she’s remembering Madison’s words about small questions and waiting.

“Is there anything else…like the appointment…that you’re worried about?”

“Yeah,” he says quietly.

“What’s that?” Mom encourages gently.

But this makes his thoughts crash together in his head:

Mama threatening to send him away.

Mom threatening to arrest him if he didn’t go to school.

Mom telling him to talk to her when he was beyond stressed about the whole Brandon and Emma thing.

The fact that they probably knew about the about her having the abortion before him. Maybe even when he came to them about it.

He’s even second-guessing how fast Gabe split, taking off for Tahoe, leaving only that note behind. (Moms had been talking to him. Then he walked away from them. The next day? He was just gone.)

Mama humiliating him by making him take pills in front of everybody in the kitchen and checking his mouth after like he was some criminal.

There’s more. There’s always more. The gears of his brain are grinding to a halt. Because it’s not one thing. Just like when he was a kid - but worse now - it’s _everything_. And when it’s everything? The words evaporate. And he has nothing.

It’s also gotten to the point where he won’t talk to them, or around them, because they’ve been on his ass about every word out of his mouth. And they wouldn’t like him telling them all the ways they’ve sucked at being his parents since his brain injury.

But as hard as it would be for them to hear…it’s been a million times harder for Jesus to live. To be made to feel - all the time - like he is nothing but a burden. An obligation. A pain in their ass. Some stranger they fear instead of a son they’re supposed to love.

Just like that, he’s about to break down for the second time tonight. He’s got no energy to leave. Hopes they will just walk away and leave him first. That, at least, he’d be used to. He shields his face from them. Tries to be quiet about this. So maybe they won’t notice. Or think he’s doing this on purpose. Or for attention Or that he really is broken now, and maybe they were too quick to say he wasn’t.

Mom’s there with her arm around him, on the arm of the chair he’s in. Mama pulls up the footstool. Lays a hand on his knee.

“Maybe it isn’t one thing…” Mom ventures quietly, pausing. “Maybe it’s a lot of things…”

Jesus goes still.

“It’s _okay_ if it’s a lot of things,” Mom reassures softly.

Finally, hesitantly, Jesus nods.

They wait for him to get himself together. Even though they’re not impatient, he’s grown used to their impatience.

(“ _What the hell is wrong with you_?!”)

And he tries to make the process quick. Smash these feeling down, too.

“Take your time,” Mama urges softly.

And Jesus can’t believe it. But it’s easier to collect himself not thinking he has to do it on a time limit.

“Sorry,” he apologizes.

“No, love. We’re sorry,” Mama apologizes. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Yes. I did,” Jesus manages. “But I’m…always…trying. To not. So I can…not leave.”

“Not leave?” Mama asks, and Jesus almost loses it.

He stands up. Starts pacing out his extra energy.

(If he has to say the words himself, maybe they might come true…)

“You’re always trying…to not do anything wrong?” Mama thinks out loud, putting the pieces together. “So, you won’t get sent away…” The truth has hit her, and she looks horrified.

Jesus nods. Stops. And Mama’s there. “Honey, we talked to you about this, right?”

“You asked me…if I knew…how much..you loved me. But…I didn’t answer.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Mama says, breathless.

He can’t ask her what he has to ask, but he remembers Madison and texts them instead. The same question:

_Do I have to go?_

“No.” Mama says firmly, as soon as she reads her text.

“No?” he double checks.

“No.” Mama repeats, walking over and wrapping her arms around him. “I should never have said that to you. I was so out of line and I’m sorry.”

All Mama’s sentences…all at once…with no pauses. It’s too much to take in. He needs one word. A yes or no. So he checks again.

“If I mess up…” he whispers. “Like get mad…or forget something…or…throw something…or…yell….or break…s-something…”

“If those things happen…” Mama says, speaking more deliberately than usual. “You’ll stay. We’ll help you…remind you you can take a break…help you calm down…and you’ll stay with us.”

“Yes or no?” he asks, desperate.

“No.” Mama says, looking him in the eyes.

“You don’t have to go, love,” Mom says, coming over, too. “Not ever.”

“Arrest me?” he asks quietly.

“No.” Mom says, sure. “I will not arrest you. No matter what.”

Jesus lets out a breath. Relieved. He’ll probably need to hear this a bunch more times for it to sink in, and so it can eventually go from short term memory to long term, where it can stay with him. For now, this seems like a new world. Where Moms came back from wherever they went when he was in his coma. And now they’re back to their old selves. Who love him.

“Lie to me?” he asks.

“No. No more lying.” Mama promises. “We are going to be honest with you.”

“Is this okay?” Jesus wonders. “To say this stuff?”

“Yes. We want to hear from you,” Mom reassures.

_We’ll see if that’s true in a sec…_ Jesus thinks and then asks, “Did you…send Gabe away?”

Moms look at each other. Then him. Then nod.

Jesus looks away. “Did you know…about Emma…when I told you?”

“We did,” Mom admits.

Words don’t come, but anger fills that void. He’s in the kitchen. Out the back door. Beating the shit out of the tree house with Brandon’s bat before he can stop himself. It’s not really a treehouse yet. Just pieces. But it feels good to hit them. To make them nothing. Just exactly how he feels.

He’s breathless. Sweating. Exhausted. When he stops to catch his breath, he turns. Seems Moms there on the patio. Jesus drops the bat. Walks to them. Waiting. (Mama said he’d get sent away if he kept this up and he just did.)

“I’ll go,” he says, breathless.

“Where?” Mama asks. “Stay. Talk to us, if you can.”

Jesus is confused. Why is she acting like this is okay? He’s pretty sure he remembers that after Gabe and Ana left the night he wrecked B’s room, Moms said no more bats for him ever. Two rules broken. Just like that.

“You said…I have to leave. Inpatient programs…right?” he asks, his voice as dead as he feels inside.

“Sit down,” Mama says gently.

He does. Watches her. Wary.

“We are not sending you away, Jesus. We understand you can’t help what happened just now.”

“Just lie. Whatever. I don’t even care anymore.” He gives up.

“Jesus? Check your texts, love. Your group text…with Mama and me.” Mom urges.

Shrugging, he finds his phone and takes it out. Reads their last exchange from what looks like several minutes ago.

Him asking _Do I have to go?_

Mama had texted back: _No. What I told you about sending you away was so wrong and I am sorry. We will help you. We love you._

Mom had texted: _No. Stay._ There was a heart after it.

(He seriously doesn’t remember this at all.)

Jesus eyes it skeptically. Eyes them. “This…is real?”

“Yes,” Mama nods.

They wait for a bit. For this huge thing to sink in.

Eventually Mom asks: “Do you feel calmer now?”

“Yes…”

“Can we talk to you?” she wonders softly.

“Yeah,” he nods.

“How we behaved…it wasn’t right,” Mama starts, surprising him. “ It makes sense that you’re angry.”

He nods.

“And I think you handled just now pretty perfectly,” Mom nods. “Would it help for us to keep some old stuff back here? Stuff that’s okay to break?”

Jesus blinks. Nods. “You said no bats, though.”

“But you didn’t take the bat because we said not to, right? It’s like your friend, Madison, said tonight. You weren’t in control. You couldn’t help this.”

“Yeah. I mean, no. …I’ll clean it up,” he offers.

“Yes, I think that’s a good idea. But tomorrow. When you have some daylight.” Mom encourages. And one of us or your brothers and sisters will help you.”

“I feel like this is all a dream,” he admits.

“How so?” Mama wonders.

“You two…being so nice to me. Not kicking me out. Like I’m gonna wake up and be somewhere else.”

“When you worry about that, look at your phone. At your texts with us,” Mama reminds. “We want you here with us. We love you. You’re not going to LA for any appointment there. I cancelled that,” she adds.

“Oh. Okay.”

“I think we should go to sleep for now. And we’ll talk more in the morning,” Mom decides.

“Do you think you can sleep?” Mama asks.

“Do you love me?” he asks, surprising her. (Surprising himself.)

“I do love you. Very much.”

“I mean, now. When I get mad. Do you love me?”

“I told Mariana once, a long time ago, something I wanna tell you now…” Mom starts, her voice soft.

“What?” Jesus asks.

Mama meets Mom’s eyes. She smiles.

Mama looks at Jesus, full on, in the moonlight: “We love you even when you’re naughty…but we understand…this wasn’t you acting out. I love you very much.”

“Even when I get mad?” Jesus checks.

“Yes. I love you when you get mad,” Mama says. “I love you all the time, Jesus.”

“Oh. Are you mad I yelled and broke this stuff?” he asks, just in case their answer changed.

“No, we understand. We did some very hurtful things to you. Said hurtful things. You have every right to be upset about that.” Mama maintains.

“Hmm..”

They make their way back inside and he is on his way upstairs when Mama shows him a Post It note. With his permission she brings it to his room and sticks it to the side of his desk, where he can see it even from bed. Puts extra tape on it, so it stays there.

It reads:

_\- No appointment in LA. Cancelled. So sorry._

_\- Never sending you away. No matter what._

_\- We love you always._

_\- We learned about ableism_

_\- We will do better._

_Love, Mama_

Just beneath this, Jesus adds the date and a message:

_Wrecked the treehouse tonight. Clean up tomorrow._

–

The next morning, Jesus sleeps in super late. He wakes up and Jude’s already out of bed. He checks the time: after 11 AM.

He lies there, staring at the ceiling. Feeling depressed as hell. Not wanting to move or face anybody. But something yellow catches his eye, and he focuses on it. Mama’s handwriting on a note.

Jesus reads it. Exhales. Checks his phone. Finds a text with the word ‘ableism’ on it from Madison. He remembers talking to her. Remembers the meeting. But not later. Not with Moms telling him they’ll never send him away. It feels too good to trust. He peels it off the side of the desk and brings it downstairs. Sticks it to the counter next to where Mama’s doing work.

She turns to him.

He raises his eyebrows, so many questions milling around his head.

“Yes,” she says simply, but like she means it.

And Jesus can’t help it. He wraps his arms around her. For the first time he can remember (not counting last night), she hugs him back.

He lets go soon, and stops by the fridge to check out the big family calendar. The place where Mama had written the LA appointment is erased. Jesus can still see proof of it though. He takes the calendar off the fridge and to the table. Starts to draw in that space, covering the traces of shock therapy with a tunnel. Dark on the outside. The shape of a person walking through.

“Jesus,” Mama says, getting his attention. She hands him his meds and he makes a face.

“I don’t like…how you made me…take them. In front of people. And checked. After.” His speech is extra hard to get out this morning, maybe ‘cause so much happened already, and it’s been hard realizing it’s all true again.

Mama sits down. Listens. Then she says, “I’m sorry.”

“Made me feel…like…subhuman…” he admits.

“I won’t do that anymore,” Mama promises.

“You did, though,” he points out.

“Yes.”

“You said forever,” he points out. “You were gonna do that forever.”

“I was wrong,” Mama admits.

“So, you won’t?” he asks.

“No.” She waits. Then, “Can I ask you something?”

He nods.

“Is it okay that I help you remember to take them?” she asks.

Another nod. “I don’t forget…on purpose…anymore.”

“I know that.” Mama nods. Her eyes move to Jesus’s sketch, “I like this,” she says.

Jesus shrugs. Gets up to find cereal. Milk.

When he comes back, Mama’s still sitting there. When he starts to eat, Mama talks again. “Mom and I want to talk as a family…about ableism. So everybody knows to treat you better.”

He glances up sharply. “They’ll hate me. Calling them out like that? No.”

Mama lays a hand on his shoulder. “Honey, we’re not going to call them out.”

“Then what?”

“We’ll tell them what ableism is.”

“Can I?” he asks. (Seriously? What the hell is he doing?)

“Sure.” She waits a bit and then adds. “We were thinking of giving a couple general examples - just so they’d have a sense of what we’re talking about.” She pauses again. “Anything you’d feel comfortable sharing…or having us share… Stuff we’ve done that you want us to know not to do again?”

“Examples…of ableism?” Jesus asks, his brain desperate to catch up, even with all Mama’s pauses.

She nods.

He’s done with breakfast, but has all but forgotten his meds. Until Mama points them out and nods a bit.

She waits until he takes them. Then waits some more.

“Maybe lying about Emma…” he ventures. “And the treehouse not being my project…”

Mama nods. “So, we’ll talk tonight as a family.”

Jesus nods. But feels freaked out at the thought, still.

“Brandon offered to help you pick up the back yard today,” Mama adds.

“Oh.”

“I have a board meeting.” She drops a kiss on his head. “I have to head out. I love you.”

“Okay,” he says back. (The only word that’s there right now.)

–

When Mama leaves, Jesus doesn’t know what to do or what even just happened. What did he agree to? Talking as a family about ableism. Telling them what it is. He fights to get two words out when he’s stressed, and a family meeting like that? With everybody there? Is gonna be major stress.

There’s one thing that helps him, though: the memory of Madison helping him navigate the talk with Moms after the meeting. She’d had solid advice that actually helped him. Jesus opens up a new text. Attaches a pic of the note Mama wrote. Hits send.

Then opens a new text:

_Fam meeting 2nite abt ableism???? Losing my shit. Help._

Madison texts back right away.

_That note seems like progress. But a family meeting?_ She sends an awkward emoji. _So what’s worry number 1?_

Jesus doesn’t think.

_All of it._

Madison tries again.

_How many other ppl?_

Jesus:

_My 4 sibs._

Madison:

_So, a lot of ppl._

Jesus:

_Yeah. Too many. My words are just gonna go. Not gonna remember anything._

Madison:

_Try writing down key words. Or phrases you wanna talk about._

Jesus:

_Wanted to tell them what ableism is._

Madison:

_Okay. Open your notes in your phone. Put the word ‘ableism’ there._

Jesus:

_Definition too?_

Madison:

_It’s for you. As much detail as will help._

Jesus sends her a screenshot of the memo section of his phone when he’s done. She sends a thumbs up back.

Jesus:

_Still too many ppl. I do better one on one._

Madison:

_Here’s an idea: Text them ‘ableism’ like you did your moms last night. At the very least, they’ll come to you and ask what the text means._

Jesus:

_What do I say?_

Madison:

_“Google it.”_

Jesus:

_Oh. Okay._

Madison:

_Then if they have questions you can talk to each other._

Jesus:

_Or text?_

Madison:

_Or text._

Jesus:

_So is your fam being nice to you?_

Madison:

_Yes because they are not here._

Jesus:

_They’re being nice by being gone? LOL._

Madison:

_Not bugging me._

Jesus:

_Cool. Thank you._

Madison:

_LMK how it goes._

Jesus sends a thumbs up, and then opens his texts. First he sends _Ableism_ to Mariana. Then Brandon. Then Jude. Then Callie.

Then he lets out a breath and glances out back to see Brandon on the patio with a cup of coffee. His phone’s out.

Jesus takes a risk and goes outside.

–

“Hey. Moms said you need some help cleaning up?” Brandon asks.

“Yeah.”

Wordlessly, Brandon goes around the side of the house and drags the giant trash can that’s there. “Can you go grab the trash bags?”

Jesus turns. Goes to the kitchen. Finds them under the sink. Stands up and feels a little dizzy. He grips the sink. Even the new meds have gnarly side-effects. Always within about a half hour, they hit.

Everything finally stops moving and Jesus brings the trash bags out back. His leg is doing the thing again. Like restless legs, only restless _leg_.

Before he loses his nerve (or his balance) he texts Madison.

_Jesus:_

_Helping my bro. Way unsteady. Am I weak to sit and help? Do I have to stand?_

_Madison:_

_Not weak. If you can, get a chair and sit. If you can’t, tell your bro or text him._

Jesus clears his throat.

“Uh…chair?” he ventures, feeling so ridiculously vulnerable.

“Sorry?” Brandon says, preoccupied with taking the bags from Jesus and shaking one open.

Jesus sways on his feet.

“Oh! Chair! Hold on.” Brandon drops the bag and rushes to the patio. Dragging a chair into the grass just behind Jesus.

“Thanks,” he manages, once he’s pretty sure he’s not about to collapse. Absently, he picks up the bag, holds it open as B fills it.

“So, ableism?” Brandon asks. “I do that?”

“Everybody does that,” Jesus says.

“Was the Emma thing….the lying to you…assuming you couldn’t handle the truth? Was that?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“And the pity.” Jesus offers.

“I’m sorry?” Brandon asks.

“You acted like my life…was sad…when I was trying to figure out the whole Emma thing. Like..if this was before…you’d respect me. Know I deserved to know when Emma wanted to tell me. Not feel bad for me for trying to figure it out.”

“Yeah…sorry…I’m an ass.”

“Moms are gonna talk to us later. I just…wanted to talk to you guys first. If anybody asks you about the text? Like, the sibs? Will you tell them to come to me?”

“Definitely.”

“And don’t lie to me anymore. Please?”

“I won’t. I promise.”

They work together in silence. With Brandon’s help, it doesn’t take much time at all to finish.

–

After lunch, Jesus is ready to crash again. And after, he wakes up, and Jude’s there, on his own bed, but obviously waiting for Jesus.

“Did you send this ‘cause you’re mad at us?” Jude asks the second Jesus opens his eyes. Jude shows Jesus his phone.

“Kinda,” Jesus admits. “‘Cause it’s not right.”

“But if we did this, we didn’t know…”

“So now you do,” Jesus maintains.

“So, you just wanna…like…rub our faces in it?”

“When those little shits…made fun of your nail polish…was it rubbing it in their faces…to tell them to knock it off? To stand up for yourself?”

“That’s different,” Jude denies, still defensive. But Jesus can see, he’s thinking.

They’re both quiet a long time. When Jude speaks again, he’s cringing.

“So when I talked to you like you couldn’t understand me after you got home, that was…?”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry.” Jude studies his comforter.

“This didn’t make me…like…stupid. It made things harder. It’s like…everything comes at me…at the same time. So, when we talk, I need you…to give me time. Pause a lot. Be direct about what you mean. Ask if I have questions. But don’t do it like I’m stupid.”

“Okay.” Right then, Jude pauses. Then he adds. “I had no idea it was like that for you.”

“No. I don’t think anyone did.” Jesus thinks over what he wants to say next, hoping the words he needs will be there. “You could, like, pass that along, if you wanted…”

“About what you need when people talk?” Jude asks.

“Yeah.”

“And remind them to pause?” Jude asks.

“Yeah,” Jesus nods. “That’d be cool.”

“So, my natural state then….I basically get to butt in and tell people what to do.” Jude looks way too happy about this.

“It’s called a–advocating,” Jesus laughs. And don’t like, go overkill.”

“But if I see you looking like it’s going too fast, I can tell them to slow down?” Jude asks.

“Yeah. I can do it sometimes. But this happens…so much…it’s good to have someone else know.”

Jude nods. They’re both quiet for a bit. Jesus thinks about going back to sleep.

“I saw you don’t have to go to LA…” Jude ventures, nodding at the Post-It note. He looks way serious.

“You knew?” Jesus doesn’t know why he’s surprised. But he is. He wonders if the other sibs know about it, too.

“They didn’t tell me. But yeah. I knew.”

“Did you want them to?” Jesus asks, even though he’s scared of the answer.

“No. I was scared. But I didn’t know what to do…” Jude admits.

“Yeah,” Jesus nods. “Me, too.”

–

On the way out of his room, Jesus sees Callie in hers on her laptop. He knocks.

“What?” she asks.

“Get my text?” he wonders, braced on the doorframe.

“Yup.”

“And?”

“I know what it is.”

“And you won’t do it anymore?” Jesus guesses.

“No. I mean, I probably will. Society is ableist right? And racist. And homophobic.”

“So, you _will_ do it more.” Jesus is incredulous.

“Yeah, but not on purpose, Jesus. And if I do, you can tell me. I wanna be aware.”

“Like telling Mariana she couldn’t bring me to a party…like I was some dog…” Jesus is still bitter at that memory.

“I just meant she shouldn’t put you in danger,” Callie maintains.

“You wanna be aware?” Jesus challenges. “This is that.”

“Okay,” Callie turns her chair fully. “I’m listening.”

“I can decide what I wanna do. If I wanna go to a party I can. Just like you and Mariana did.”

“Okay.”

“So, respect that?”

“Okay. I do. I respect that. And you.”

Jesus nods. “Cool.”

–

It’s hours before he can talk to Mariana. Because it turns out she’s at that board meeting with Mama. When she comes home, she’s happy…until she sees him.

Then her eyes cloud.

“What is this?” she challenges, showing her phone to him on the front steps before she even gets in the house.

“Ableism,” he says. (It _is_ ableism.)

“I can see that,” she seethes. “Why did you send it to me?”

“‘Cause Moms are gonna talk to us tonight, and I wanted you to know about it.”

“Because you think I’m awful?” she challenges.

“Because…you ask if I’m gonna be normal again every other freakin’ day, Mariana! Because you call me stupid! Because you’re afraid of me!”

“Because you freaked out over pepperoni!”

“I freaked out ‘cause…Moms…weren’t listening when I said no!”

“You took a bat to Brandon’s room!”

“He spent… _months_ …lying to me! No one was telling me the truth, Mariana!”

“Right, so all your behavior is fine and we’re the monsters…”

Jesus’s mouth drops open at her words. At the hypocrisy he feels in them. For months, hadn’t they all justified their abuse by saying it was to help him? But calling it out as what it is somehow makes Jesus wrong.

“That’s what you think of me?” he manages finally.

“That’s how you acted! What was I supposed to think, Jesus? How was I supposed to know you weren’t just gonna take a bat to _my_ head?”

“Because…you know… _me!_ I’m your… _twin_ , Mariana! I beat up an empty room! Yeah…that was… whatever…but I couldn’t help it. I would never hurt…you! How could you…think that?”

“Maybe ‘cause Moms did…” Mariana admits softly, after a pause.

This makes him stop. Sit. She sits, too. For a long time, neither one speaks. Finally, Mariana does again:

“I messed up. That’s why Nick found me. That’s why you got hurt. I never forget that.” she says quietly.

“That’s on Nick.”

“Also me.” Mariana maintains. “Do you know that Mom told me I couldn’t see you in the hospital? She didn’t tell me you were having trouble with words or anything.”

Jesus’s eyes darken. “She didn’t?”

“No. When I lost it in front of you, she told me I couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t what?” Jesus asks.

“Cry in front of you. She said it scared you. And I’ve just…been blaming myself this whole time. So everytime I see you, I say something mean. Or keep my distance. Because I still feel like…I’m not allowed to.”

“You are,” Jesus says. “Mom was wrong.” He pauses, thinking. “You know, I always wondered where you were then. In the hospital. You were the only person I wanted to see.”

“Really?” Mariana wipes her eyes.

“Definitely.”

“I wanted to see you, too,” she shares. “I am sorry…for asking about when you’ll be normal again. For calling you stupid. For being afraid of you. And anything else I did. The way Moms were acting…I thought if you worked hard enough, your brain would get better and you’d be the way you were again.” Mariana has a way of taking really natural pauses between sentences that allow Jesus to catch up. He hasn’t even needed to say anything.

“I thought that, too. I might get better at doing some stuff. But I’m always gonna have a TBI,” Jesus admits, remembering Madison’s words from group last night.

“I thought…whatever you did… It was on purpose. I didn’t get that you honestly couldn’t help it.”

“It’s not on purpose,” Jesus echoes. “Everybody thinks it is. But it’s not.”

“Must suck to be treated like it is,” Mariana looks at him, serious. “I really am sorry. I’ll never do those things again.”

“You won’t?”

She puts her arms around him. Squeezes. “No. I won’t.”

Just then, the door behind them opens.

“Family meeting,” Jude calls.

Jesus texts Madison:

_It’s go time. Wish me luck._

In seconds, she texts back:

_You’ve got this. Remember your ableism memo._

–

The meeting starts out like no big deal. Mama updates them on Anchor Beach stuff. On Mom’s birthday soon. Jesus has his ableism memo open and is trying to memorize it.

“We also wanna talk to you guys about Jesus,” Mom says. “We need to change the way we’ve been treating him.”

“Jesus?” Mama asks, nodding at him.

“It’s called ableism. What’s been happening. With you guys. Trying to help or whatever. It means discriminating…against people…who have disabilities… _because_ we have disabilities…” he manages softly. Somehow, he feels so, so embarrassed.

“Like when I yelled at Mariana about bringing you to the party at the warehouse,” Callie offers.

Jesus feels simultaneously terrified at the memory of after that party - of Mama’s threat - and relieved that Callie’s willing to share her own example of ableism.

“Because I was implying that Jesus couldn’t choose things for himself,” she continues.

“That’s a great example,” Mama nods. “We weren’t letting you be in charge of your own life,” she says to Jesus. “And we’re gonna change that.”

“So we all need to be more patient, honest, understanding,” Mom rattles off, and just like that, Jesus feels hopelessly behind. He looks at Jude.

“Okay. We gotta slow this down,” Jude says, matter of fact. All eyes turn toward him. “What? I’m advocating. Jesus said I could.”

“Go on,” Mom nods.

“Mama, you said you were gonna let Jesus be in charge of his own life,” Jude says.

“That’s right,” Mama nods.

Jude looks to Jesus, eyebrows raised. “Is that direct enough?”

“No.” Jesus says. “How?”

Mama looks confused.

“How are you gonna change things?” Mariana asks softly. “How are you gonna let Jesus be in charge of his own life?” She checks with Jesus. “Right?”

He nods.

“What would you like to be different?” Mom asks Jesus.

“Everything,” he says.

“Listening? Taking you seriously?” Brandon asks.

“Yes,” Jesus nods.

“Not assuming you don’t understand,” Jude adds.

“Yes. Don’t make decisions…about me…behind my back. Talk to me,” Jesus all but begs.

“Mom also said patience. When do you need us to be more patient?” Jude wonders.

“When I need to say something. Don’t…be in a rush. Be open…to other ways. If I need to text. Or just without words…”

“Your body language,” Brandon says. No doubt, he’s remembering how Jesus almost bit it in the yard today because he needed a chair.

Jesus nods.

“So take seriously all forms of communication?” Mama asks.

“Yeah. And um…if I can say…”

“Please,” Mom encourages.

“Don’t manage me? Like every word I say? My words…don’t come out how I mean them all the time. Not trying to be rude. When you’re on me about everything..it feels like…I can’t talk at all. Because it’s not…you know….” Jesus shrugs.

“Okay,” Mom nods.

“Or ask about outbursts?” Jesus adds. “Ask about me. Help me before it gets there.”

“Yes, we will.” Mama promises.

Once it’s clear Jesus doesn’t have anymore to say, Jude pipes up again: “Being more honest. That’s like when you said don’t talk about you behind your back. Don’t assume you don’t get it, or that it would be too much?” Jude checks.

“Right.”

“And understanding. Anything else you need us to understand?” Jude again.

It takes a long time for these words to come, but his family waits.

“That this isn’t on purpose. I really can’t help it,” Jesus says. “I don’t wanna be treated like…this is my fault…”

“Right, we were expecting you to control things you can’t,” Mama adds. “That was wrong. We know it’s not your fault.”

“Well, and his anger at us is totally legitimate,” Mom says looking at Mama. “We were wrong to dismiss it.”

Jesus nods. “So if I get mad, you won’t send me away?” he asks, trusting that the presence of all his sibs will work in his favor. He’s heard Mama promise a few times she won’t send him away. But so far none of those times have stuck with him as deeply as when she said she _would_.

“Wait. You said that?” Brandon asks, upset. “That you’d send him away?”

“I did,” Mama nods. She looks sorry.

He can hear Callie, Mariana and Jude talking to each other in low tones, but they stop when Mama raises a hand for silence.

She looks at Jesus. “No.”

“Mama and I…we did some very bad things to you, bud, and we’re sorry,” Mom adds.

“So, Jesus?” Callie wonders. “What if we say or do something ableist? Or what if…you know…we catch Moms doing something…what do you want us to do?”

“Tell them.”

“Call it out?” Callie checks.

Jesus nods. “So I don’t feel like I’m alone. Or like…their feelings are more important than my…like…”

“Your safety.” Callie fills in.

Jesus nods.

“So if I noticed a certain appointment on the calendar. For my _brother_. In LA…” Callie says, her tone dangerous. Challenging.

“Yeah, I saw that, too,” Jude speaks up.

“Wait. What’s this now?” Brandon asks.

At the same time, Mariana asks, “What appointment?”

“With a doctor. Doing some shady shock therapy clinical trial.” Callie insists.

The room explodes with noise, and Jesus feels overloaded. Pulls his hood up over his head.

“What the hell?!” Brandon explodes at the same time as Mariana leaps to her feet and insists:

“He is not doing that!”

“Okay. That has been cancelled.” Mama speaks up.

“As of when?” Callie crosses her arms.

“Last night…” Jesus offers, his head ducked. “They were gonna do it til last night.”

“We should’ve never gone ahead with that.” Mama says apologetically.

“It’s not okay for gay people…” Jude speaks up, hurt. “Or Black people. So why did you think it was okay to do it to Jesus?”

“It isn’t. I wasn’t seeing Jesus as a person,” Mama admits, her voice heavy with regret.

“So, do you now?” Callie insists. “Or are we gonna have to like, guard him from you?”

Poppy arrives home then. Just in time to hear the tail end of what Callie asked. “Guard who from what?”

“Moms were gonna take Jesus to shock therapy in LA…” Mariana passes along, livid.

Poppy walks swiftly to the living room. Sits directly in front of Jesus. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

“Honey, it was a mistake,” Mama insists to Poppy.

“A pretty damn big one,” she insists, and Jesus feels like he is worth something right now. Imagines Poppy’s eyes flashing with hurt. Anger. Love. She looks back at him, over her shoulder: “Don’t worry about it, Jesus. I got you.”

He nods. “Thanks.” (Poppy has been the one person to remind him he is human this whole time. He trusts her. More than anyone right now, he trusts her. Well…except maybe Madison.)

“Guys. Jesus is not in danger. We were very wrong. That appointment has been cancelled,” Mom reassures.

“It better be,” Callie says, more pissed than Jesus has ever seen her.

“It goes without saying…but please, please, keep looking out for each other this way.” Mom says. “Jesus, we love you. Just the way you are. Let us know what you need, however you can. We’re gonna follow your lead.”

“Okay,” he nods. (Even though he has no idea what to do or say to get that across…not to mention anything he might need. The only reason he knows as much as he does about what he needs is being friends with Madison.)

Everybody is allowed to go. Told to do homework. But Moms ask Jesus to stay. When she realizes this, Poppy also hangs back. He appreciates that she sticks to her word.

“I wanted you to know I heard what you said about David. How he’s so awful and I’m sorry. He will not be coming back.”

“So, no– No, para…professional?”

“Well, no. You still need one. It will just be a new one.”

This news has Jesus basically deflating. He’s seen how paras treat kids. In school growing up, it had been the thing he’d never wanted. To have some babysitter bossing him around.

“Can’t _you_?”

“Can’t I?” Mama echoes.

“Help. With making sure I have…my homework. And whatever.”

“I can stop in. But your IEP is specific. You need someone trained to…”

“…to deal with me?” Jesus asks, hurt.

“To help you in the way you need.” Mama insists.

“But Jesus told me,” Poppy interjects. “A paraprofessional _isn’t even_ a professional. So why can’t anybody help him that wants to? Or that he wants?”

“I’m sorry. That’s not the way it works,” Mama says.

“So, basically, I might end up with someone as bad as David…”

“If there is anything I can do to make sure you are better matched, I’ll do it.”

“What?” Jesus asks, lost.

“I’ll make sure you’re with someone who you respects you.”

“Apparently, that’s gonna be…a big deal…’cause my own family had to be told how….” Jesus mutters.

“You’re easy to respect…and like. It’s not you, okay? It’s them.” Poppy insists.

Jesus lets out a breath. “Really feels like it’s me…”

Moms surprise him again, wrapping their arms around him, even as Poppy is there keeping an eye on how they’re acting with him.

“It’s not you, Jesus,” Mom says.

And Jesus wishes he could believe her. But he can’t.

–

He knows he has homework to do, but he has to touch base with Madison. For the first time, he video calls her. (Jude’s got his headphones on and his laptop open, so he won’t be listening in.)

“Hey,” she says, her face brightening.

“Hey,” he says back. “So…” he ventures.

“So, how’d it go?”

“I don’t know. All the sibs freaked out at Moms for that thing with the doctor. And ‘cause they like… _assumed_ \- or I don’t know… Like… Sort of… All I have in my head is _Jeopardy_? But like, not that?”

Madison waits. Eventually, she starts singing what must be the _Jeopardy_ theme song.

It breaks the tension - Jesus smiles.

Madison finishes the song with a twinkle in her eye. Then, “Where were you going with that?”

Jesus hums (not _Jeopardy_ ) to buy time. “Like…kind of…scary? But not. I don’t know. Never mind.” He looks away from her.

“Not _never mind_. What did they…want…to do?” Madison has not given up.

“To send me away. Awhile ago.”

Madison’s eyes widen. “Let me guess? To get magically un-brain-injured?”

“Or turn me into a…zombie or something. If zombies were like, quiet and…nothing… If they never had a feeling?”

“Yeah, so you what? Agree with them all the time?” Madison frowns.

“Whatever…” Jesus shrugs.

“But your sibs…what…they found out? Or?”

“A couple of them knew about it, but didn’t know, like, what to…do or something? When we were talking, my sis…asked me what I wanted them to do if somebody was…like…able-whatever?”

“Ableist?”

“I guess.” Jesus allows. “ …I said I wanted her to tell them. So she called them out.”

“Right there?” Madison asks, smiling.

“Hell yeah, right there. Everybody lost their shit. My foster sis like…came home in the middle of it, and Mariana - my twin - told her what happened. From then on, my foster sis? Like..she came inside and sat in front of me. She didn’t even leave when everyone else did…when Moms wanted to talk to me. She stayed. So they wouldn’t..I don’t know…”

“Like your bodyguard,” Madison’s impressed. “Is it wrong that I’m kinda jealous of your sibs?” she asks.

“They’re not always this cool. Well, Poppy is - she’s my foster sis. But everybody else pretty much treated me like a monster…or a baby…when I came home.”

“Ew,” Madison cringes. “And, like, why are those the only two options?”

“You got sibs?” Jesus asks, curious.

“An older brother, who my parents can…you know… _Madison, be like Derek_. And say, _This was easy for Derek_ and then wonder why I lose it and start screaming at them…”

“They suck,” Jesus insists. “They shouldn’t do that. They just…don’t get…what it’s like to be us…”

“At least I have you,” Madison offers.

“If you Hulk out, I won’t judge,” Jesus promises. “Hey, I gotta go. Homework.”

Madison wrinkles are nose. “Thanks. I’m here if you need me. I won’t judge either. Hulk away.”

Jesus laughs. It feels good to laugh.

Then, he hangs up and tries to get some work done.

–

The next day at school, Jesus meets his new para, who he hopes is the total opposite of David in every way. They’re in the main office. Mama. And the para. Jesus had hung back because Mama asked him to, but he’s finally invited inside.

“Jesus. I’m Antoinette. It’s nice to meet you.” (So far so good. She’s a woman this time. She smiles at least sometimes. And she doesn’t look like Jesus is constantly pissing her off. Yet. But Jesus isn’t holding his breath that Antoinette is perfect.)

“Yeah,” he nods, trying to smile. She seems nice enough, but so had David. Plus, it’s early, and he’s tired, which means all his words are nowhere. Plus he has this feeling he can’t put his finger on. Like Mama forced this.

“Your mom gave me some literature,” Antoinette says, smiling ruefully and pointing out the gigantic folder.

“Mama. Seriously?” he asks.

“What? Jesus, I just want Antoinette to be aware,” Mama says.

Antoinette sends Jesus a smile. They leave Mama behind in the office, and Jesus wonders at what she’s doing til Antoinette stops him and points out his own locker, still in the middle school hall.

It’s kinda embarrassing, since Emma’s also there, but Antoinette stands off to the side and lets them talk, greeting some of the middle school kids while she’s there. Not in a humiliating “I’m-Jesus’s-para” way either. In a way like she’s helped a lot of kids. Like they like her.

He and Poppy walk to English together. Antoinette hangs back again, keeping a bit of distance between herself and them.

“Do I have to sit here?” Jesus asks, pausing at the desk closest to the door.

“That’s your call,” Antoinette says easily, greeting Timothy.

Jesus isn’t sure if she’s serious of if she’s gonna yell at him if he picks wrong, so he hangs out near the front, just waiting.

“Hey, Antoinette! Where’s David?” Timothy asks.

When Jesus makes out Antoinette’s good-natured and funny as hell response over the noise, he just barely keeps a laugh in check. (Obviously, Antoinette and Timothy go back a ways.)

Jesus texts Madison:

_LOL OMG my new para…_

_English Teacher: Hey A (new para) where’s David (awful para)?_

_A: Never mind. I’M David now._

Madison texts back a line of laughing emojis. _OMG LOL. Hope this is a good sign!_

“Jesus, find a seat. People in the back need to see,” Antoinette encourages, winking.

He’s just realized that she’s not making fun of him for being different. She’s wisecracking about him being supertall. It feels good. Normal, almost.

Poppy motions for him to come sit in the back with her, and he does. Antoinette sits off to the side, but kinda near them. Timothy hands Jesus the notes for the day, before class starts. But once it does, it’s impossible to concentrate.

By math, Jesus feels like he might explode from tension. So much noise. So much to think about, even with notes from the teacher. Even with Timothy writing down English homework for him. Even with Antoinette on hand if he needs her. (Because Jesus is trying not to need her.)

He sits about halfway back this time. Not willing to give in and sit at the front like Mariana. It’s still impossible to focus. Craig’s notes might as well be hieroglyphics. He gets his test back with a big red F at the top. Jesus crumples it up and stands. Tosses it in the recycling.

Antoinette’s there, questions on her face, looking concerned.

“I’m done,” he grinds out.

“All right,” she says easily, leading the way out the door. They go down the hall, to a quieter room, in a hall with tables and beanbag chairs.

Jesus shoves at a table, frustrated.

“It’s okay. To need a break,” Antoinette encourages, like she can see inside his head.

Jesus can feel tears building. Grunts, frustrated with himself.

“You wanna talk to somebody?” Antoinette asks. “A friend, maybe?”

Jesus thinks of Madison. Takes his phone out. Sends one angry emoji. One punching emoji.

Like usual, she’s there. Right away.

_Uh-oh._

_So this annoys the hell out of me when other ppl say it? But try to breathe._

He does, but it doesn’t work. Jesus picks up a beanbag and pelts it at the wall. He can feel Antoinette still there behind him, watching. He really wants to throw his phone, but at the last second, lobs his backpack at the wall instead.

_I failed. The math test._ Jesus can finally text it. And the weight of the words mean he’s sitting abruptly on one discarded beanbag.

_That’s because real!David was an ass. He expected you to finish too fast. Not a fair grade. Tell fake!David. (New para’s still cool, right?)_

Silently, Jesus stands up again. Walks with his phone over to Antoinette.

(She looks at him like she’s worried about him. Like she cares. She doesn’t flinch. Or act afraid.)

Jesus offers his phone. Points out the last two texts.

“Lena mentioned something to me about a test…” Antoinette tsks. “Jesus, that grade’s not gonna stand. We’re gonna rescue that test out of the recycling, and I’ll talk to Craig privately. He’ll understand.”

“No,” Jesus objects. Because why would anybody?

“He will. I’ll have him give you the weekend for it. So you have plenty of time. It’s gonna be okay,” Antoinette reassures. She pretends not to see Jesus wiping his eyes.

When he feels calmer, she helps him right the beanbags and tables. He picks up his bag. On the way back to class - in the quiet hall - Antoinette muses, “Fake!David, huh?” She eyes him, with a smile. “Not bad. Still prefer Antoinette myself.”

“Couldn’t spell it…” Jesus admits softly.

“I’ll write it down for you,” she says matter-of-factly.

He nods. Breathes. Feels…maybe…and for the first time…like things might be okay.

–

After school that day, Mama’s way happier to see him than she has been. She asks how his day was. If he remembered his homework. (Not about outbursts. Even though he had one.)

“I forgot math…” he manages. (Antoinette had made sure to get Craig one on one when everybody went to lunch to talk to him about Jesus’s test. And then a bunch of kids were screwing around and Craig had to deal with them, and he couldn’t think about writing down homework.)

Mama sighs and Jesus feels her disappointment. She takes out her phone.

Jesus takes a step forward. Then another. “Mama? What–What are you doing?”

“They’re all supposed to be supporting you,” she snaps. He can hear Craig’s voicemail. Looks around to see Mariana, Poppy, and Mama’s friend, Jenna, taking all of this in.

“Hi, Craig. It’s Lena Adams Foster. I’m sorry to call you at home but Jesus just told me he forgot his math homework. Writing down his assignments for him is an accommodation outlined in Jesus’s IEP. I expect it to be followed. There can’t be anymore slip-ups like this.”

Mama hangs up and turns briefly to Jesus: “All set.”

His ears are burning. Now Jenna Paul knows he has an IEP and that he can’t write down his own assignments. Now Poppy and Mariana know. Do they think he’s trying to get off easy?

Mama turns to Jenna. “I’m sorry. You were saying?”

–

The rest of the week passes in a blur. Antoinette, it turns out, is way better than David, but Jesus would still rather not need a para at all.

On Friday, Craig hands him a blank copy of the same test. He has written _**DUE MONDAY** _at the top, so Jesus can’t miss it. (Ever since Mama called his house and handed his ass to him, Craig has written down Jesus’s assignments and when they’re due.)

Still, every single day, it feels like school is just too much. Like it might bury him alive.

–

Saturday, there is no time for taking his math test because Jenna has invited 20 billion people over to celebrate her and Mom’s birthdays. The party seems mostly for Jenna. Mom seems off. She has lately. But Jesus hasn’t had the energy to see what’s up.

He’s too busy trying to get Mama to stop ruining his life.

Jesus sneaks off to his room in the middle of Mom’s party to video chat with Madison.

“Okay, so Antoinette’s not bad…”

“Who?” Madison asks.

“Oh. I mean Fake!David.”

“Oh,” she says, understanding.

“…but having your _Mom_ call your teacher at home? That’s way worse than a para…” Jesus ventures.

“Oh my God. How?” Madison asks, mortified.

“She’s the assistant principal. She’s got everyone’s home number…”

“Horrifying….” Madison says.

“Yeah, so, like… They’re like, _We’ll follow your lead - let us know_ whatever. But when I try?”

“They don’t listen,” Madison nods.

Jesus points to the screen, because that’s it exactly. “Seriously, though. How do I tell Mama she’s bugging?”

He seriously hopes that Madison has some advice. Because as of right now? Jesus can only see this getting worse, before it gets better…


End file.
